


greyscale

by S_Hylor



Series: Bingo Round 1 2018 [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Domestic Avengers, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 04:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Hylor/pseuds/S_Hylor
Summary: He’s a man out of time, but he’s always been a man out of place.





	greyscale

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my Stony Bingo square "learning to be loved" - this is the third attempt to fill that square and so far the only one I've managed to finish. 
> 
> Thank you to quandong_crumble for the beta work.

For years, decades, he’d thought he was broken. There were many things about him that weren’t right. He remembers nights of shivering and shaking, at death’s door, his ma holding him, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead and calling him her beautiful little changeling. He didn’t understand the reference at first, not until years later, and he supposes that it fit, that maybe out there somewhere in the fey world there was the real Steve Rogers, living amongst the fair folk, while he was left to wither and die in the human world.

He remembers all the double dates that Bucky had dragged him on, how he always ended up alone and Bucky would leave with both girls. It didn’t even bother him that the girls didn’t pay attention to him. It was a relief, actually, it meant he didn’t have to try and figure out what he was meant to do. Meant he didn’t have to pretend that he was actually interested in them. Not that he wasn’t. If they’d wanted to spend the night talking, he’d have been able to do that. He’d have been able to stammer through conversations, saying all the wrong things like he usually did. It was what would be expected after another date, or another, or later, when they’d expect an engagement and marriage. It was better that they saw the broken exterior and didn’t dig deep enough to notice it went the whole way down.

It changed with Peggy. She was fierce and beautiful and looked at Steve like he was more than he was. He thought it was very possible he loved her, it felt like the way stories described it, not the way Bucky would talk about it. He loved her, adored her. It might have been enough to push past everything else one day. He thought maybe he could have made her happy, could have been a good husband. He would have tried his hardest, at the very least.

Except he never got the chance to figure out if he would have been able to.

Then he’s in this strange new world. It’s only decades later, but the years he missed make it feel alien and terrifying. Everything is so bright, so loud, and so overtly sexual. Not that it hadn’t been loud and bright and sexual back when he was growing up, or in the war, it was just different now. A lot of it better. He knows a lot of it is better; he skims over the history of the gay rights movement, along with so many other things, and he knows it’s a step in the right direction.

That’s why he can’t understand why he still feels empty and broken inside. He’d thought for a time he might have been homosexual, when he’d dreaded the idea of spending his life with any of the girls Bucky had set him up with, but would have been happy to be with Bucky forever. Peggy had messed up that theory. Not that it was a theory he’d ever acted on, or explored, because that was a dangerous route that was easier to avoid. To know of all the triumphs in the gay community should make him happy, but it makes him feel even more adrift.

He’s a man out of time, but he’s always been a man out of place.

The only time he feels right is when he’s fighting, when there is something to do. When he can keep busy and has a purpose and nothing else matters.

Then there’s Tony.

He matters.

It’s after everything settles down, when Tony offers him a place to live, and he turns it down, feeling like he has to rediscover America, figure out who he’s fighting for. Once that’s over though, he goes back, asks if the offer still stands, and finds himself living in the newly appropriated Avengers Tower, with Tony and Bruce, other various team members calling in from time to time.

He gets comfortable in the space, in his place there with Tony and Bruce. In the way Tony seems to take it upon himself to catch Steve up on everything he missed. They watch countless movies and television shows. Listen to decades worth of music.

It doesn’t help that once they get comfortable around each other, Tony is tactile in a way that Steve thought had died out over the years. The casual contact and embraces that had been normal between men when he was growing up that had been stigmatised and nearly stamped out while he was stuck in the ice.

Tony brings them back. A hand on his shoulder, fingers curled around his wrist. Casual bumps, nudges and leaning against him. It makes him feel warm inside, makes him smile even when he feels like the whole world is trying its level best to crush him. Takes some of the world’s weight off his shoulders.

He knows that Tony is the same with Bruce, though it is a different level, only as much as Bruce will accept and no more. Steve suspects that Tony needs to contact too, maybe more than he does, so he makes a point not to tense or pull away, and it becomes more natural over time, until it it’s normal for them to sit slumped together on the couch watching movies, pressed together shoulder to knee. Sometimes Tony fiddles with his phone or tablet while they work their way through the list of movies Tony had deemed essential for Steve’s education. When he isn’t preoccupied with a piece of tech, it’s mere minutes before Tony’s fingers are tapping patterns on the inside of his forearm, or on his thigh.

It’s fine until it isn’t.

It’s fine until Steve’s in the kitchen one morning, grabbing a snack before he goes for a run, and Tony wanders in, looking tired to the point of near collapse, and slumps against Steve’s side, pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder and tucking his hands into the pocket on the front of Steve’s workout hoodie. He feels his heart beating too fast in his chest, feels it bruise as it batters against his ribs and his stomach knots up, and all he can think is _I want to spend the rest of my life with you._

He wants it so much, but at the same time he feels sick, because he knows he can’t have it. He’s not even sure what it is. Just that he wants to always be around Tony, wants to be there morning and night and always have this casual contact, this easy lack of space between them.

When he thinks about what it will be like if he tells Tony this and Tony rejects him, he feels like he’s heart is going to break. When he thinks about what it will be like if he tells Tony this and Tony takes him up on it and tries to kiss him, or tries to do more than kiss him, he feels like he’s going to throw up. The thought makes him cold, panic like ice in his veins.

Tony grumbles when he grips his shoulders and moves him to lean against the counter instead, and he doesn’t stick around to see if there is any further reaction, just excusing himself to go run, and beats a hasty retreat out of the tower.

He runs until his lungs and muscles scream at him, until he can’t feel the difference between the sick feeling from before and the nausea of lactic acid and over exertion.

  


He doesn’t try and avoid Tony. It would be pointless anyway, because he always gravitates back into Tony’s space. Like a moth to a flame. It’s only a matter of time before he flies too close and gets burnt.

It doesn’t stop him though, doesn’t stop him from pressing into Tony’s space whenever he can, taking each and every casual touch and cherishing it. He thinks maybe he can be happy like this, leeching contact and affection off of Tony, while telling himself that he’s safe, because everything he’s ever read, heard or seen about Tony tells him that Tony only likes women.

It isn’t even a lie. It’s not a falsity that he’s telling himself, he’s sure of it. Except there’s one night when he’s half asleep on the couch, head pillowed on Tony’s lap, when he hears JARVIS announce that Jim Rhodes is there to visit. He’s met Tony’s best friend a few times before, they’ve spent evenings watching movies and talking, and he likes Jim despite him being Air Force. Maybe because he is. They get along well, even if Steve feels like pieces of him are missing when Tony moves away from him and into Jim’s space whenever he’s around.

He means to sit up, to move away, but he’s comfortable, dozy, sluggish, lulled by the way that Tony’s fingers are stroking through his hair.

He hears Tony make a shushing sound as footsteps approach, then a whispered, “Hello, Platypus. Quiet, Cap’s asleep.”

It makes him feel terrible for not correcting Tony, but he is selfish. If they know he’s awake, Tony will move away from him and all his casual touches will belong to Jim for the rest of the night, and he’s not sure he can handle that right now.

“Looking cozy there, Tones.” Jim whispers in response, and there’s the creak of the armchair as he sits down. “When did this happen?”

“When did what happen, Sugarbear?” Tony hums in response, fingers changing their path slightly to tuck hair behind Steve’s ear.

“You and Steve.” Jim replies, quiet and soft and not sounding at all surprised.

“We’re not.” Tony corrects and Steve feels his heart ache in his chest. It should be what he wants, to know that Tony will never want him like that, so he never has to face it, but it still makes him hurt to hear it out loud.

Jim hums, sounding unconvinced. “You sure about that, Tones?”

Tony’s body shifts as he shrugs, fingers falling still in Steve’s hair. He knows he should move, should let them know he’s awake. He shouldn’t be listening to this, but he can’t stop, everything aches, but he can’t bring himself to make it stop.

“I don’t know. This is just how we are. He entertains my need to express casual affection and touch. There’s nothing more to it than that, James.” Tony counters, voice sharp despite continuing to whisper.

“Does he know that? I’ve seen the way he looks at you, I don’t think he’s just accommodating you.”

In the silence that follows, Steve feels his world grind to a halt. This is the moment he feared, either Tony rejecting him, or wanting more than he has to offer, and he doesn’t even have any agency in the situation. He’s just a passive observer, through fault entire his own.

“You saying Captain America has the hots for little old me?” Tony whispers, sarcastic, joking, yet something vulnerable woven into it.

“I’m saying I think Steve Rogers might be a little in love with you, Tones.” Jim replies, taking a loaded pause, as though he has more to say.

Something near Steve’s head starts vibrating and music bursts out of Tony’s pocket. It’s so startling that Steve doesn’t even have to fake being caught up surprise; he jolts upright, nearly tumbling off the couch in the process.

“Shit, sorry, Cap.” Tony reaches for him with one hand, settling on his shoulder, stopping him from falling to the floor, the other hand fishing his phone out of his pocket. He looks at the screen, then squeezes Steve’s shoulder, using it to lever himself off the couch, moving a few metres away. “Sorry, got to take this.”

Still teetering on the edge of the couch, Steve glances between Tony and Jim, barely remembering to greet Jim as though he didn’t know he was already there.

  


He still doesn’t try and avoid Tony after that, even though guilt eats at him for hearing the conversation that he wasn’t meant to hear. It only makes things worse when Tony starts looking at him differently, even though his actions don’t change much. He waits for the moment when it all falls apart. When everything breaks. It doesn’t matter if things go one way or another, no matter what happens he knows that they won’t be the same after. He’s going to lose the best thing he has in his life right now, and he has no one to blame but himself. If he hadn’t taken liberties with Tony’s friendship, this would never have happened.

If he wasn’t so broken he could offer Tony more, if more is what he wants.

It’s inevitable that things fall apart. Steve expects it will; knows it will, because every good thing in his life has been snatch away from him before, so why should Tony be any different?

When it happens though, it’s still too soon. Despite knowing it’ll happen, he isn’t ready for it to end.

It starts like any other night, cooking yet another new recipe together, then eat together at the table in the dining room. Bruce isn’t there, he grabbed a plate of food then excused himself, saying he needed to be by himself that evening, which happens from time to time, though less frequently than when Steve first moved into the tower.

Tony fidgets while they eat, and by the time Steve stands up to take their dishes to the sink and tidy the kitchen, he feels second hand jitters from Tony’s nervous energy. When Tony follows him into the kitchen, rather than going to pick the next movie off the list he’d put together for Steve and get it set to play, Steve knows that something is going to happen.

He dawdles over tidying and washing dishes until Tony moves into his space and stops him, hand curling around his elbow. He feels like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen, startled, panicked but unable to move to save himself. Tony moves closer, watching him carefully. Being in each others’ space is nothing new. Tony leaning in to kiss him is.

Tony’s lips against his feel different from the kiss he’d gotten from Peggy. Neither had felt bad, but now he doesn’t have the distraction of war, of being about to jump onto a plane and fight Red Skull. He has nothing to rush off to do, nothing to avoid where this might go, and that knowledge makes it impossible to breathe. Tony presses closer to him, slants their mouths together at the better angle, lips soft, parting, tongue sweeping out to try and deepen the kiss. His skin crawls. He feels sick, mind rushing through a hundred different scenarios of how this will go. He thinks of Tony touching him under his clothes, of having sex, and all he can taste is bile. He wants to push past it though, to ignore the feelings, to let Tony do whatever he wants, because right now, in this moment, the thought of Tony never touching him again, never sitting beside him on the couch watching movies, never cooking with him and eating dinner together, makes him feel worse than he feels right now.

Then the space in front of him is empty, Tony’s gone. His chest aches, he still can’t breathe, he wants to reach out, to plead with Tony to come back, to let him try again—to let him try to be not broken—but he can’t get his body to move.

It feels like eternity before he can get his eyes to open, so sure that when he does he’ll be in the kitchen alone, but Tony is still there, standing a few feet away, looking stricken with concern.

“I’m sorry, I can be better—” He starts to say, the words tasting like lies even though he wants them to be the truth.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this—” Tony says at the same time.

The world freezes. It’s the rejection that he feared. The moment when he loses the last good thing he has.

Tony shakes his head, rubs his face, looking apologetic in a way that doesn’t make sense. “You’re great, Steve, don’t get me wrong. Anyone would be lucky to have you. You’re gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but I’m just not wired that way.”

All he can do is stare at Tony in confusion, and croak out a sound that is meant to be a question.

Tony gives him a humourless, sad smile. “I thought, we’re great together, we get along great, we’re practically an old married couple, so I thought I could ignore the whole ultra masculine thing you’ve got going on. I mean, a blow job’s a blow job, and hand job’s a hand job. I thought I could even maybe work up to anal, if that’s what you really want. But I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

Relief crashes with panic, crashes with confusion. There’s a tumble of thoughts in this head, all the things he wants to say. _I don’t want sex either. We can still be great together, just like before, nothing more. Please don’t leave me, I don’t want to lose this thing we have._ When he opens his mouth all that comes out is a tumble of noise, nothing making any sense.

Brow creasing, the sad smile on Tony’s face slips into confusion. “Steve?”

He breathes, finally, feels his chest cracking with every inhale. “I don’t want that. Sex, blow jobs, hand jobs, any of it. I want things just like they are. The touching, cooking, dinner, movies. Us, together, just like we were yesterday. Or last week. Nothing more. Just you and me, forever.”

Tony’s eyes widen slightly, looking startled, lost, surprised, unsure and a myriad of other emotions.

Cursing under his breath, Steve tries to rein in his emotions, pull them back a bit, because he knows he’s laying it on a bit thick. “I love you, in my own way, but it doesn’t have to change anything. You don’t have to love me back. I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking that things stay the same as they are.”

Something shifts in the way Tony’s holding himself. He relaxes, the expression of his face softening. When he smiles it’s small but real. “I already love you, Steve. In my own way. I was just worried it wouldn’t be enough.”

He hesitates a moment then holds out his hand. Tony takes it, thumb instantly tapping a pattern against the back of his hand. When he tugs, Tony steps closer, into his space, leaning into him, still holding his hand, other hand curling around his elbow.

“It’s enough. This. It’s enough for me. It’s all I want.” He whispers, proximity not requiring him to be any louder.

Tony smiles at him, but it looks a little hesitant again. “You know I only do monogamy, right? Despite what the tabloids might say. If you want this, it’s just you and me, doing this thing, whatever it is.”

The last of the tension bleeds out of him; he feels his shoulders sag, drops his head until it rests on Tony’s shoulder. “Good. I don’t share well.”

There’s still a lot that he knows they’ll have to talk about, things that they’ll have to work out, but they fit together well before this and he thinks they’ll fit together better now.

Tony lets go of his hand, bringing his hand up to stroke through his hair, comforting, just like he has a hundred times before, and for the first time in his life, Steve feels a little less broken.


End file.
